Christmas is creeping up on us yet again. Last year was so hard for me to get into the spirit of things. I have already begun shopping in hopes to spread the financial burden around just a little, but I still do not see any light at the end of the tunnel yet. I wish I could go back and change my childrens expectations of what and how much they receive. I suppose I am trying to make up for my lack of Christmas as a child growing up. I think my mom stopped the traditional celebration when I was about nine or ten. I remember going to school and hearing what all the kids received from Santa or their families, and I had nothing to report except for maybe some jewelry or perfume from Avon my mom decided to throw in at the last minute. It was not for lack of money or a religious thing. I think she just did not want to fuss with it. I do not blame her because sometimes lately I feel the same way, but I refuse to let my kids grow up with crappy memories of the Holidays. My best Holidays I can remember were the ones where we were with my aunt, uncle, and cousins. My Aunt Charlene made her house look and smell like something Martha Stewart would envy and her table was always so perfect. I remember her and my mom making bran muffins I think it was by what seemed at the time by the thousands. It is so funny how when I was a child I did not care for those muffins with the dates in them, but now I would almost give a limb to have one covered in real butter. It just really felt like Christmas at Aunt Charlenes and Uncle Jims. I want my children to have this huge Holiday that is this perfect memory etched into their souls. I want them to tell their Christmas stories to their children with a bit of joy sparkling in their eyes. The only problem with this picture is that today you can ask my older boys what they remember most about the Holidays and they will tell you it is their mother cussing at the tree as she tried to assemble the lights and how everyone ran at the mere mention of tree trimming. I know they also associate the holiday meal with more sailor words and usually a dinner time at least five hours later than originally announced and a mother who had not showered or even brushed her hair being to busy trying to be so darn perfect. I do suppose this is some kind of tradition.....no matter how dysfunctional.
Posted on: Thu, 07 Nov 2013 08:22:47 +0000
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